Winter Nights
by hiccupp
Summary: Thirteen year old Hiccup is participating in one of the Villages sacred holidays. Unfortunately, dark forces have other ideas on how the celebration will actually end. This takes place before Hiccup befriends toothless, and gives insight into the young boys tragic life and his uncertain future.
1. Prologue

**Well, I finally decided to take the plunge and write something. Updates will be slow since it takes me a month to basically write 3k words, and since I have no clue what I'm doing, this should be quite the adventure for all of us. Since my goal is to get better as a writer, I welcome all criticism. I'm a tech monkey so this will be my first attempt to write something creative - let's hope I don't crash and burn. I'm shaking my magic 8-ball and asking it if my story will be any good, and it says "Very doubtful". So, read at your own risk.**

**For those who haven't figured it out yet, I'm clueless. I'm sure that fact will become abundantly clear after you read what's presented below. Please expect all the newbie stupidity that comes along with a first story.**

**Some warnings. I'm rating this "T", but it will have offensive language, blood, torture, angst, mind control, sexual suggestiveness, and other such naughty topics. Nothing explicit along the love lines, since I can't write a love scene to save my life, but consider yourself warned (i.e. no lemons or yaoi. However, suggestive and creepy sexual situations will abound).**

**If it seems that I've rated the material wrong, let me know. The fiction will be dark and unhappy, so if you're looking for a fairytale ending, you've come to the wrong place.**

**This fiction is based on the "How to Train Your Dragon" movie by DreamWorks and book characters by Cressida Cowell (you'll see a mix). I own nothing, I get no money, so please don't sue. This is done only to gain some literary experience, and I will most likely be laughed at and humiliated by those who review the work. The plot and extra characters are the invention of my own twisted mind, so hopefully they will bring you either amusement, or many sleepless nights (**laughs maniacally**).**

**Last Warning: Buckle up, Buttercup. We're just getting started, and the ride gets bumpy from here...**

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_Prologue:_

Darkness, impenetrable and immovable, filled the immense room like an palpable presence. The smell of exotic aromas hung thickly in the dank and musty air unnoticed by the cloaked occupant seated hunched in a large wooden chair before a small fire, completely lost in thought. The reflection of the flickering light from the red-orange flames danced wildly off cold, grey eyes, as fingers drummed mindlessly on the large wooden arm of the chair.

The complete silence of the room was broken only by the sound of approaching solitary footsteps, echoing off the stone floor of the long corridor leading to the room. After a brief time, the sound of the footsteps abruptly stopped and two loud knocks erupted into the room.

Not waiting for a response, the messenger slowly pushed open the heavy double mahogany doors (which appeared designed to keep errant sunlight and fresh air from invading the sanctuary), entered cautiously, and positioned himself a respectful distance from the back of the chair where the cloaked figure sat. Lowering his head and eyes toward the floor, he dropped onto his right knee in a gesture that yielded great authority to the figure seated before him. Raising his eyes slightly, he surveyed the room using the small amount of light that filtered in from the open doors.

The stone room was filled with herbs and potions which produced a smell that clung to and assaulted the man's nose and throat, making his head swim with dizziness. One of the four walls was lined, floor to ceiling, with moisture warped wooden shelves full of ancient looking books. The far wall was filled with numerous bottles of various sizes haphazardly arranged on similar looking shelves. The bottles contained strange looking herbs and odd colored liquids whose sole purpose, he reasoned, surely had evil intent.

Positioned a few feet in front of the potions wall rose a solid, black onyx pedestal which contained an open book that had obviously been heavily used. The pages looked worn, and the leather cover was ripped and dirty. An old metal cup seemed to have been placed judiciously next to the book. The cup held a solitary dagger encased in an ornate metal sheath, the smooth silver handle blemished only by two distinguishing makers' marks.

The unembellished wall to his right was made entirely of cold grey stone. The only distinguishable feature viewable in the omnipresent darkness were chains fastened to the wall. A large dark cabinet rested against the wall whose contents were hidden from view by blood stained doors. The sight made a small ripple of fear roll up the man's spine as he recalled the stories told by the guards. The dark fate of those unlucky victims burned in his mind and caused his heart to race. "A fate worse than death," he thought.

Without moving his head, the messenger's eyes shot upward. The ceiling rose high above, enveloped in ubiquitous darkness. The room was massive. It was designed for a specific purpose; a deadly purpose. One he dared not think about.

The messenger raised his head and began speaking to the back of the figure seated in front of the large, rectangular stone fire pit centered in the middle of the room. His voice hoarse and raspy, shaking slightly as he began his report. "I beg your forgiveness for the interruption, but I bring news." His voice full of tension and fear.

Without taking a breath, the messenger continued. "The mother is dead. It was carried out as you directed. No one suspects." The seated figure raised an eyebrow and a half-smile slowly broke over the hidden face. The messenger continued, "It's a boy. Sickly, but alive." The messenger finished his report and reverently bowed his head. A frown splashed across the face of the cloaked figure.

Immediately mental machinations were developed to counteract the unforeseen and unwanted variable. "The child can be dealt with. He's vulnerable. No one will suspect he's a target. Patience... I must be patient... The bond must be strong. It will make the nectar so much sweeter when the time arrives." The speed of the finger drumming increased, and the sound of nails on wood grew louder as a new plan speedily came to fruition. A large smile slowly broke across the figure's face as the mental scheme solidified.

The long silence that ensued after the messenger's report made his blood run cold. Fearing retribution for being the bearer of bad news, he fidgeted, struggling to control his visceral reaction to the fear rising in his chest. Pulled out of thought by the irritating motion from behind, the cloaked figure flicked a hand and dismissed him. A look of relief flashed across the face of the man.

The kneeling messenger rose and stood on shaky legs. He then bowed and slowly backed out of the room. As he started pulling the double doors closed, maniacal laughter erupted, rebounding and amplifying as it streamed passed him and cascaded down the corridor behind. The evil sound only being squelched as the heavy double doors were finally pulled closed.

For a brief moment the messenger stood motionless. His sweaty hands still clung tightly to the door handles, his shoulders hunched slightly and his head tilted down. He slowly exhaled a desperate breath and tried to steady his nerves as cold sweat ran down his back. Lifting his head and straightening his back, he released his tight grasp on the ornate handles, turned and paused.

Before leaving, he took note of the eerie patterns of light which shifted and moved across the floor before him. Scanning the area for the source, he realized that the late afternoon sun was scattering and reflecting off the metal cell doors that lined the corridor. Doors that hid dark and terrible secrets. Secrets of pain, despair, loneliness, agony and eventual death. All those secrets just to satiate the growing hunger of the monster in the room.

A small moan emanated from one of the cells and pulled the messenger away from his dark thoughts and back to reality. Feeling relief to be finally free from the oppression of the room, he began to retrace his steps back down the corridor. His gait quickened toward the rising steps at the far end as he sensed final freedom, feeling no guilt leaving all those untold secrets behind.


	2. Chapter 1

**First, thanks to everyone for the reviews. Didn't seem to find one snicker among them, which is quite surprising.**

**Unfortunately, it seems I've somehow accidentally raised expectations. My magic-8 ball still says the story will stink, so be prepared to have your hopes dashed with the next few chapters. Seriously, I wasn't kidding... I stink, and you are about to bear witness to that fact.**

**If my English profs assessment of my writing skills was any indication of future chapters - i.e. me having the creativity of a sea sponge, and doubting English was indeed my first language - then there is nowhere to go but down!**

**Hell, y'all been warned... so my conscience is clear.**

**This chapter will be horribly boring and dull. Since DreamWorks and Cowell did the hard work by creating the environment and characters, this exercise in writing just gives me the opportunity to learn to setup a known story and lay out some characters. Hopefully, I'll be able to ****do this and still keep things interesting - but the jury is still out on that one.**

**The chapter should come across similarly to the first few minutes of the HTTYD movie where Hiccup describes Berk, and their life on the ****Island - with my story spin, of course.**

**You'll notice Hiccup's character is especially pathetic. This is done on purpose so that you can see a strong character development ****throughout the story - we need this because as the story gets darker, the main character has to grow and develop properly, otherwise the ****ending won't have y'all shocked and horrified, grabbing for your tissues and dabbing your eyes in despair.**

**Hopefully, I don't make the main character too much of a lame loser initially, but after my second read, Hiccup is pretty pathetic; ****maybe too much so for a proper character evolution. For me, the chapter is long, dense, and too pedantic to hold great appeal, but I've ****re-written it several times and it doesn't seem to improve. Ah, newbie plotting and writing errors manifesting already.**

**Again, all criticism is welcomed - the good, bad, and the ugly. If the situational and character setup missed the mark, or the intro is too short, too long, too boring, too lame, I'd appreciate my sorry ass being told. Please, rip it apart and tell me what I need to do better.**

**So, without further ado, it's time for us all to enjoy, and deride, my spelling and grammatical errors, as I put y'all to sleep with this snore of a background chapter; hoorah!**

**Last Warning: Buckle up, Buttercup... Like the sign says, blasting zone ahead, and the road ain't closed...**

**BTW, Happy Thanksgiving folks!**

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Chapter 1  
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The Isle of Berk was one of the smallest Midgardian islands in the Barbaric Archipelago. Possessing a frigid climate, it had been described as being located twelve degrees north of Hopeless and just a few degrees south of Freezing to Death; lying solidly on the Meridian of Misery. It snowed nine months of the year and hailed the other three, as winter hung on with both hands and refused to let go.

The island's sole human inhabitants were a small tribe of unruly Vikings known as the Hairy Hooligans who were nearly as unpleasant as the island's weather. They were a tough and sturdy people who had lived and thrived on the island for seven generations, well adapted to surviving the brutal and unforgiving climate.

During the warm summer periods the Hooligans would ready themselves for their annual battles with the surrounding tribes, and the almost nightly onslaught of dragons who would besiege the island to hunt the Vikings' livestock. Out of necessity, the Hooligans became fierce and fearless warriors capable of defeating many types of foe.

In their world, devoted training and unrivaled bravery in battle were essential for survival. Of highest importance was to live, fight and die with honor, thereby preserving the prowess and glory of the tribe. Their traditions honored valiant and brave personalities and the training of younglings to be fearless fighters.

Progeny born into the tribe tended to be strong and healthy, and grew into fierce Viking warriors highly skilled in the use of the sword, spear, and battle-axe. They learned hand-to-hand combat and how to navigate ships using the stars and coastal landmarks as their guides. They were taught what a Viking could do; crush mountains, level forests, and tame seas. Boldness and courage were instilled in the young, and members of the clan who continued to grow in strength and fortitude with age were treated with reverence. Those who didn't were treated with disdain.

On rare occasions, infants were born who were small, underweight, weak, and fragile. These runts were believed to be bad luck, their presence in the tribe a disease that would weaken the next generation of Vikings, threatening the survival of all. Since Viking custom mandated that only the strong could belong, these "hiccups" were placed at the bottom of a low oceanic cliff where they were left to the mercy of Odin and the angry tide of the sea.

This story is about the birth of one such hiccup. Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III, the only child of Hooligan Chief Stoick the Vast and his wife Valhallarama the Brave.

Fate had never been more of a cruel mistress than in the lives of Stoick and Valhallarama. The question as to why Hiccup was born to a fierce and fearless Viking chief, when he clearly wasn't Viking material, remains unknown. It also remains unclear as to why Stoick disregarded the tribe's longstanding custom, vehemently refusing to abandon his infant son to the endless ocean to become just another forgotten soul whose existence was erased from Viking folklore.

Many speculated that Stoick couldn't bring himself to sever his only connection to Valhallarama, since he tragically lost his beloved wife shortly after child birth. Other's believed the curse of the runt had corrupted his soul and turned him soft. One thing almost all villagers agreed upon was that the small, premature infant was a curse and would never be accepted.

Stoick's perceived dishonor devastated his brother, Spitelout (the beerbelly) Jorgenson. Being the younger of the two, Spitelout's ascension to chief could only be accomplished through Stoick's untimely death. Now that Stoick had an heir, his aspirations of becoming chief dwindled to all but nothing; he felt robbed and cheated. His only consolation lay in the hope that Stoick's embarrassing runt would die in a training or hunting accident, fall fatally ill, or be killed in an attack, thus allowing his own son, Snotlout, to become the next chief of the Hooligans.

The idea of Hiccup becoming the next chief sent a collective shudder through the village. His shy and intellectual nature led him to be both kind and caring, not violent or aggressive in any way; the antithesis of what it meant to be a Viking. When he spoke it was with soft tones, his voice stuttering slightly due to his nervous and timid nature. The dark auburn-haired boy with innocent, emerald-green eyes was small and skinny, incapable of lifting a hammer or swinging an axe. His limbs were fragile little twigs and every rib on his chest could be easily counted under pale, freckled skin which stretched taut over his thin protruding bones.

From birth Stoick knew his son was "different": too clever to be a chief who respected tradition, too interested in books to be normal, and too curious to have the good common sense needed to protect himself from dangerous things like the ocean, cliffs, dragons, dangerous flora, sharp objects, or the fire pit in their home. Stoick feared that short of chaining the child to a wall, there would never be an adequate way to protect him from himself.

The child always seemed in imminent danger of dying, either by accident or illness, and to Spitelout's continued disappointment, neither type of tragedy seemed sufficient to summon the appropriate hellhound to drag the child kicking and screaming into the afterlife.

In stark contrast, his obnoxious, black-haired, black-eyed cousin grew into a strong hulking brute whose skilled fighting techniques were the envy of his peers. Snotlout towered over the other children, his arms like tree trunks, his muscle strength formidable, his barreled chest and broad shoulders rivaling any adult male in the village. In other words, the pure personification of everything it meant to be a Viking.

Although dull-witted, aggressive, and lacking many of the attributes needed to be a wise and effective leader, Snotlout's unrivaled fighting skills easily elevated him to a position of respect within the tribe far above Hiccup.

In a village full of Vikings, Hiccup was clearly an outsider, a freak of nature, isolated and unwanted, trapped in a village where nobody was like him or understood him; least of all his father. In the eyes of the village he was an outcast, and thus was branded with the stigma of being a social misfit, and an utter failure. He was alone amongst many who wouldn't think twice if he'd suddenly collapsed and died where he stood. On the contrary, his death seemed to be the secret desire of many whom still harbored resentment, refusing to acknowledge his existence for not being dealt with properly as an infant.

This seemed especially true of his uncle and cousin. Many a cruel night had been spent at their mercy, his cries of pain eliciting only laughter from his cold and vicious uncle. The child's ever-growing unVikingness seemed to stoke a cruel ember in Spitelout's heart, each day intensifying, temporarily squelched only by the smaller boy's torment at the hands of his older, more aggressive son.

Stoick would notice the varied injuries, some severe, when Hiccup would return home after visits with his uncle, but the injuries were always explained away by his brother as resulting from "rough play" with his cousin. A tale would be spun that portrayed Snotlout as only trying to help toughen and strengthen the younger lad, so ultimately, it was for Hiccup's own good.

Stoick found it difficult to believe ill of his only sibling, so accepted the explanations without question. With no rein on Snotlout's hand, the abuse only intensified over the years. Hiccup, too ashamed to appear weak in the eyes of his father, said nothing and accepted the physical abuse without complaint. Even when other children joined in the taunts and beatings, he suffered in silence. The parentally imposed mantra his father taught - Vikings are tough, strong, fearless, they laugh at pain, they never cry - repeatedly played in his mind while being beaten.

To Hiccup, his Dad's attempts to mold him into a true Viking simply came across as a father's disappointment in his son. Unfortunately, the more Stoick criticized his young son for his screw-ups, the louder the village chorus of complaints grew. The child was labeled and treated as the tribe pest by nearly everyone, except for the village blacksmith Gobber the Belch, Stoick's best friend and battle-brother.

In a desperate attempt to provide some kind of skill for the lad, as well as squash the growing unrest bubbling within the tribe, Stoick called upon Gobber to skill his young son in the art of smithing. Stoick reasoned that at the age of six the work would build strength and stamina in his tiny son, completely oblivious to the fact that the child arrived home nightly completely exhausted, too tired to eat, and covered in new scars and burns from the razor-sharp blades and molten metal that would ravish his little body.

As the apprentice's skills blossomed, his unrivaled gift for working with steel, iron, and leather, seemed matched only by his propensity for starting fires and disasters in the forge. On occasion, Hiccup's little inventions were extremely useful to the tribe, but in the eyes of the villagers, not worth the cost of his constant disobedience due to his overall lack of Vikingness.

As the downtrodden boy grew into a young teen, he remained shy and timid, his nervous stutter replaced by ironic sarcasm and self-deprecating humor. The change seemed to infuriate many in the village still determined to harass the child with taunts, their efforts proving less effective as he aged. The change in the boy brought about one unintended consequence for the Chief; his son withdrew almost completely, preferring to remain almost completely isolated in the safety of the forge, and in the company of his blacksmith mentor.

After a particularly difficult day spent surreptitiously avoiding Snotlout and his throng of sycophants, determined to mete out punishment for some imaginary trespass, Hiccup found himself seeking solace in the forge. As he pounded the metal of his latest invention into an intricate shape, beads of sweat ran down his face and back wetting his hair and clothes. His overheated and achy body gently soothed by the cool fall air which slowly crept into the forge which mixed deliciously with stifling heat radiated by the pit fire.

Completely immersed in his current project, Hiccup had lost track of the hour, not realizing the sun had long since set. His focus was abruptly broken when a unusually loud crack of thunder roared overhead. Startled by the noise, he instinctively dropped his hammer, rushed to the armory wall, and grabbed a small dagger before coming to a halt in front of the large forge door. As his heart pounded in his throat and his body shook with fear, he readied himself for another dragon raid. Collecting his courage, he threw open the door and yelled, "I'm coming Dad!", only to be immediately smacked in the face with a rush of frigidly cold air causing him to stagger back, reminding him that the unseasonably cold fall had put the dragons into their winter slumber cycle early.

As Hiccup stood in the doorway slightly dazed, another crack of thunder boomed overhead. As the rumble echoed away, he blinked his eyes rapidly and looked up into the menacing sky, watching as lightning streaks danced above. As if on cue, small droplets of icy rain began striking his face. He closed his eyes and allowed cool water to run down his cheeks, waking his drowsy mind before finally lowering his head and trudging back into the forge.

A rumble in Hiccups stomach, almost as loud as the thunder, stopped him in his tracks. Feeling empty and weak, Hiccup moved his hand to his stomach, with hunched shoulders he squeezed the fabric of his tunic, scrunching his nose in discomfort. In his determination to avoid Snotlout's gang, he realized he hadn't eaten all day - again. At this point, his only options were to either wait until morning to get a meal at the Great Hall, or head home and brave the latest concoction his father called 'dinner', while simultaneously being subjected to another unending litany - which could be extended indefinitely - of his failings as a Viking, and a son.

Neither choice seemed especially appealing since each involved the critical and disappointed look of either the entire village, or his father. With a pained look on his face, he decided secret option number three was the best choice; get some sleep at the forge, and at dawn head out into the forest to hopefully find something edible. As another loud rumble shook his abdomen, Hiccup thought with discomfort, 'Morning can't come soon enough.'

Hiccup sighed and walked toward the back of the forge, entering a small work room given to him by Gobber. Pulling a chair to his desk, he opened a leather bound notebook littered with drawings, scribbles and calculations. He turned to a well-worn page which detailed a complicated cable and pulley system that appeared to launch a net. Hiccup frowned at the open page before him, unconsciously running his hand through his damp, tousled hair and down the back of his neck, rubbing slowly as he mentally struggled to integrate all the complicated moving parts into a coherent structure. "I know I can get this to work...", he mumbled, "... no more disappointed scowls. No more Hiccup the Useless."

Feeling light-headed and weak from the lack of food, Hiccup's exhaustion became more pronounced, making it even more difficult to concentrate on the work. He rubbed his eyes, stretched, rose from his seat, and made his way over to the window to take in some fresh cool air to clear his foggy mind.

Propping up his elbows on the window sill, he rested his chin in his palms. Even in the rainy, murky darkness of the night, he could make out the beginning preparations for the upcoming Winterfyllith ceremony taking place on the next full moon. The celebration, which was one of the tribes most important yearly traditions, was held in honor their ancestral spirits. It was a time to pay tribute to those brave and courageous souls who lost their lives in battle. It was also a time for promoting kinship and friendship among tribe members, and for Hiccup, it was also the loneliest time of the year.

He had no siblings, his mother had died when he was an infant, and during the festival his father led the ceremony and mingled with the villagers, leaving precious little time for Hiccup. Left alone to wander the celebration, it was painful for Hiccup to hear all the mirthful laughter and see the comradery, knowing he wasn't welcomed anywhere. There was no home he could visit; no friend with whom to share a laugh. 'Just another time of the year to get ignored and be invisible... or worse.' he thought.

Looking out into the square Hiccup's mind wandered to several past celebrations which were particularly painful. He recalled for a few years, when he was very small, Annar and Hilda Hofferson had welcomed him into their home. He cracked a small half-smile remembering some happier times, and how he had started to become their blonde, blue-eye daughter Astrid's favorite playmate. His smile slowly faded, and his brow furrowed, as the bitter-sweet memory swept through his mind like a whirlwind.

Even after all these years, he could still feel Annar's painfully tight grip on his arm as he was unceremoniously dragged home from the Hoffersons. He could still see the large man's hairy knuckles angrily pounding on the door, and still hear the loud knocks reverberating into his otherwise quiet house, only to be echoed back by the lone, heavy footsteps of the sole occupant.

Hiccup's eyes began to tear as he pictured the door swinging open, and the face of his father as he was thrown inside, landing painfully on his hands and knees. He could still feel the heavy hand on the back of his tunic yanking him off the floor, as the accompanying gruff voice filled his ears, yelling at him to go to his room.

Hiccup never knew why the they didn't want him around anymore. All he knew was that his one and only friend was ripped from him, and afterward Astrid started avoiding him like all the other children in his village. Although she never teased or hit him, she refused to ever look at him, which in Hiccup's mind was far worse. At least when the kids were  
hitting and teasing him, they acknowledged his existence, she, however, treated him as if he were dead, unworthy of notice, simply beneath contempt.

After the Hofferson debacle, Hiccup recalled how overjoyed his Dad was when Spitelout had come forward on his on volition and magnanimously offered to take him for every holiday. Hiccup remembered being told that the clout Spitelout wielded within the tribe wasn't trivial, especially with the elders, and this gesture surely meant he was starting to become accepted as a member of the village. Hiccup couldn't help but let out a soft sarcastic snort at the irony, his mind' eye immediately transporting him to when he was eight years old.

During his first Winterfyllith celebration at his uncle's, he spent the entire night sitting in a chair completely ignored. As the house slowly emptied before dawn, he remembered how his cousin lured him outside with a tale of how the magic of Winterfyllith had brought his dead mother back from Valhalla, and she was waiting for him outside with open arms. A look of great sadness crossed Hiccup's face as he recalled the heartbreaking memory.

Hiccup closed his eyes as the vision flashed before him. He remembered the heart-wrenching excitement that flooded through his body as he hurriedly rushed to follow his cousin outside, the feeling of Snotlout's hand on his small back pushing him roughly to the ground, his cousin's foot angrily stomping on his shoulder trapping it under his immense weight, and finally the feeling of the larger boy's hand on his wrist as he pulled his struggling arm taught.

The hateful look in his cousin's eyes as he twisted the twig-like arm until his wrist made a cracking sound was etched in Hiccup's memory. Hiccup's body tensed as he recalled how he screamed and writhed in pain on the ground, tears streaking his face, only to be silenced by a kick to the ribs so forceful it rolled him onto his stomach. He shivered as he remembered curling in on himself and cradling his broken wrist, eyes blurred with tears, begging the pain to stop. He could still smell Snotlout's breath as the large boy triumphantly dropped to his knee, poked him in his sore ribs, and chortled in his face, "Thanks for the fun, Useless".

Absentmindedly, Hiccup rubbed his right wrist in remembrance of the pain. He wasn't sure what had hurt more that night; the broken wrist or the broken heart.

Hiccup opened his eyes and gave a sad chuckle thinking about how hard he had worked to invent a story explaining away the injury as a clumsy accident at the forge when, after five days of hiding the fracture, Gobber eventually noticed the boy's work was more pitiful than usual. With a shiver he remembered the disappointed look on his father's face when Gobber told him about the broken wrist; a pain far worse than what he experienced at the healer's hut when the bones needed to be refractured, carefully reset, and splinted.

The small boy sighed sadly as all the past celebrations seemed to flash through his mind. The same basic scenario occurred every year thereafter. By the end of the night, Snotlout would always trick Hiccup and find a way to isolate him from others. With fists or weapons, Hiccup would be beaten and tortured until he cried and fell unconscious. Afterward, Hiccup would make up some excuse to his father as to why he was bruised, bloodied, or broken. Each year's celebration always ending with his father's disappointed scowl and Hiccup's humiliation.

'Still,' Hiccup thought, 'the lies were worth it. Better to be seen as a clumsy oaf than a useless weakling.'

This year's celebration promised to break the cycle of Snotlout's rein of terror. Since Hiccup was now thirteen, he would be expected to attend the festival and make a one time offering to show his respect. He knew he had to present something that showed veneration, awe, and respect for a family member who had passed. This year's celebration was special because he would finally be able to present a gift in remembrance of his mother. At this thought he dropped his hands and let them fall on the sill, lowered his head, and sighed. The event was now only four days away and he still had no idea what to bring. Not a clue. Nadda. Nix. Nothing. 'Great,' he thought drily, 'Hiccup the clueless strikes again!'.

Hoping to gain some kind of inspiration for his gift, Hiccup gazed back into the darkness of the town square. He could see that many tables and benches had already been arranged, and a significant number of the bright colored decorations hung. The falling rain distorted the scene, but Hiccup swore it looked as though shadowy people were picking their way between the tables and the carts, giving the ghostly illusion that the festival had already begun. His unfocused mind wandered to thoughts about all the delicious food that would soon be set on those tables and his stomach erupted with another angry rumble.

Finally overwhelmed by tiredness, Hiccup straightened and shuffled to the back corner of his room to lie down, his feet feeling far too heavy to lift. As he settled onto the floor, a strong draft of cold air rushed across his body causing him to pull his vest tightly around his thin frame. The soft rhythmic patter of rain on the ground, and the wind rustling through the leaves of the trees, sung a delightful lullaby to Hiccup's tired mind and exhausted body.

Succumbing to the tranquil and soothing sounds from the dying storm echoing in the forge like a lyrical melody, Hiccup finally closed his eyes and exhaled a sigh of contentment. A sudden dread flooding his exhausted body caused his eyes to snap open as he recalled that during the Winterfyllith ceremony the village seer would use divination to foretell the fates of all first year participants. Since this same seer predicted only pain and misery, for his family and the village, if he were allowed to live, he feared what might be hiding in his future; more pain and misery he suspected.

Deciding that contemplating his impending doom would have to wait until morning, he thought darkly before falling into a fretful sleep, 'I have all the luck... unfortunately I know it will be all bad.'


	3. Chapter 2

**Sorry for the wait folks, but like I said, it takes me forever to write a chapter. I appreciate ya'll hanging in there with me and being willing to read what I post, even if updates are slow.**

**I have a lot of time off this month before things startup again, so I'll try to get out another chapter before the new year - no promises.**

**Thanks to all the reviewers. I appreciate having my grammatical errors pointed out. Hopefully, I'll do better in this chapter. If not, let my sorry ass know. I also appreciate hearing your comments about the story itself. My goal is to make this an enjoyable ride for you, as well as give you a glimpse into my twisted mind (rubs hands together evilly and laughs maniacally!). Heh, that should really scare y'all.**

**My goal in this chapter is to lay out some background and develop some character dynamics. I'm hoping the dialog is believable and the character interactions are interesting. Unfortunately, the characters feel a bit one-dimensional to me and the dialogue feels forced and unnatural. Hopefully, I'll improved in subsequent chapters as I gain experience.**

**I'll be trying to pull you into the story with strong emotional hooks over the next five or so chapters. I need you invested in the characters so that the story will be more powerful when it turns darker later on.**

**When plotting this story, I realized it will be long. The really dark stuff doesn't come into play until after chapter ten. I'm a bit concerned that I might be too slow developing the plot, but I really want to build it slowly. If it seems slow and uninteresting, let me know.**

**My primary objective in this chapter is to have you feel suspense, drama, sadness, anger, and humor - I know, that's a lot of emotion in one chapter, but I'm hoping I can pull it off. If the writing is coming off as simplistic or juvenile, let me know.**

**Again, all criticism welcomed - the good, the bad, and the ugly. Brutally honest is always best.**

**Last Warning: Buckle up Buttercup... I've got the car reved up, and I'm taking you through all five speeds.**

**BTW, Merry Christmas! **

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Chapter 2  
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Hiccup's eyes snapped open as he bolted upright on the floor, jarred awake by the sound of panicked and screaming voices. Searching for the source of the voices, Hiccup was met only by black smoke which hung thickly in the air surrounding his body, acting as a impenetrable visual shield. Disoriented, he began coughing and choking as acrid smoke filled his fresh lungs, the searing heat making it difficult to breathe. Rubbing his eyes with his sleeve, he frantically tried to clear his vision which had become blurred from the fresh tears generated from the stinging smoke.

Realization gradually hit as he looked around the room straining to make out features; the forge was engulfed by smoke and flames! He froze, his eyes wide with fear, his heart palpitating. Panic rose into his throat as he watched the raging fire inch its way ever closer, causing him to scoot further back into the small corner where he had been lying. Hiccup knew he had to move, had to escape, but his terrified body wouldn't respond.

Working on nothing more than instinct, the small boy willed himself to move. He threw himself forward onto his stomach, dug his fingers deeply into the wood of the floor, and slowly started to claw his way over to the open window where he could see plumes of smoke billowing into the cool night air - his only avenue of escape from the burning inferno.

The devilish fire seemed to take on a life of its own, deliberately trying to keep him from reaching his destination. It seemed to shift and turn with malevolence, blocking his every move as he dragged his tired, sweating body across the floor. Winding yet another new path around the ever changing line of flames, Hiccup desperately clambered toward the open window and freedom.

Every now and then pillars of fire shot up almost roof high, sprinkling bright red sparks of fire that would rain down around Hiccup's body, greedily engulfing all that was in sight. Fiery wooden beams crashed to the floor and glowed brightly before him as he rolled and twisted, expertly avoiding the impact of the heavy falling timber which sought to crush his small body.

The scorched air was suffocating. Hiccup felt as if his body was on fire as tongues of flames licked his clothes and closed in. The unbearable heat acted as an oppressive blanket, hindering his forward motion. He could hear the snapping and crackling of the wood beams above him, threatening to collapse at any moment as he continued to inch his way along the burning floor.

After what seemed an eternity, Hiccup reached the bottom of the wall where he could feel a light draft of cool air flow across his body. Blinded by the heat and flames, Hiccup cautiously raised his body from the floor, his hands and fingers groping and sliding upward along the super-heated wall in search of the window opening.

Just as his burnt and shaking fingers reached the bottom of the sill, an enormous piece of debris broke lose from the ceiling and crashed beside him, throwing him onto his back and blocking his priceless exit. As ash and splinters from the fallen timber rushed into his face, Hiccup threw up his arms instinctively, letting out a cry of pain as the flames hit his arms and hands.

At the sound of Hiccup's scream, the voices outside the forge paused momentarily. Almost immediately, Hiccup could hear frantic movements outside the window; a desperation was clear from the tone of their screams. Although the fire surrounding him acted to muffle the sound, Hiccup could understand a few scant words being yelled. After a few seconds, he clearly heard a voice outside yell, "There's someone in there!"

Still on his back, his burned arms clutched protectively to his chest, Hiccup's eyes widened. "They know I'm here...", he mumbled through choked, stilted breaths. Relief flooded over him, the flaming room would not be the funeral pyre that facilitated his voyage to the realm of the dead. His sentence had been reprieved.

Before Hiccup could move again, he felt a large hand suddenly fumble over his chest, smoke obscuring his rescuer's face. The hand grabbed the front of his tunic, twisted around it, and yanked the petrified boy up and out of the burning window frame and into the cool night air.

Hiccup was thrown onto the rain-soaked ground and landed on his stomach, exhaling sharply as the wind was knocked out of him. Surrounded by fresh clean air, he began coughing and choking fiercely trying to expel the smoke from his aching lungs. He gasped as several large hands instantly began furiously beating his body, attempting to smother the flames on his burning clothes.

As he laid sprawled out and immobile on the wet and muddy ground, he panted hard trying to repeatedly fill his lungs with fresh, clean air. As his mind slowly refocused, he heard Gobber and several other men's voices yelling for more buckets of water. Suddenly Hiccup felt his shoulders and head being drenched, his body arched upward in response as the icy cold liquid shocked his small frame. A second wave hit him squarely on his lower back a few seconds later causing him to curl into a ball and moan loudly as he trembled from the cold.

For what seemed like an eternity, Hiccup laid motionless on the grass, concentrating hard to just breathe without pain. The cold night air settled on his body and chilled his water soaked clothes, making him shiver uncontrollably as water dripped from his hair onto his face, his body weak and sore from his battle with the flames, all energy reserves depleted. The effort to just breathe seemed daunting and Hiccup's eyelids drooped, the sound of the men's voices and the crackling of wood from the dying embers faded slowly into the distance as he finally lost consciousness.

Hiccup's next memory was that of being violently shaken awake, a hard slap across the face, and his head snapping back form the forceful impact. Before his sluggish body could respond, a second slap connected, violently jolting his limp head again, a red imprint of a large hand immediately beginning to form across his cheek. The slapping hand then grabbed the wet hair that clung to his face and forcibly yanked his head upward. Blinking slowly, Hiccup's eyes opened and drank in the image of the charred and wrecked remains of the forge directly behind the man whose face was immediately kneeling before him; his uncle, gazing at him with a deadly, penetrating stare.

Releasing Hiccup's hair, Spitelout suddenly grabbed hold of Hiccup's shoulders and began screaming and shaking him violently. "Fool of a boy, what were you thinking! You could have burnt down the entire village! You worthless idiot! You're a disgrace!"

Hiccup's dazed mind couldn't quite comprehend the meaning of his uncle's words, but he sensed the extreme anger. He tried to form words, but his smoke burned throat was raw, making it painful to speak. His mouth moved, forming unspoken words, but no sound emerged. Finally he managed the pathetically squeaked response, "I... I'm sorry". For what, Hiccup had no idea, but it seemed sticking with his standard assumption that he caused the disaster was wise - since from past history, it was likely, if not probable, that he had.

Spitelout's face contorted in disgust, violently he threw the small boy back to the ground before standing and stomping toward the forge, shouting orders to the other men. Hiccup raised his bruised and battered body onto his arm, his eyes locked on his uncle's back as he stormed off. In an instant, another face suddenly loomed directly before him, breaking his stare.

Hiccup found himself looking directly into Gobber's concerned eyes. "Lad, you all right?" There was a compassion and worry in his voice Hiccup hadn't heard before. "I... I'm okay." Hiccup stuttered. A small smile crossed the lips of the blacksmith as he looked into the still innocent eyes of his young friend. "Good." He sighed in relief.

Slowly peaking around the large man's body, Hiccup surveyed the scene. He could see about twenty men still throwing buckets of water on the now smoldering forge. With puzzled eyes, Hiccup turned to Gobber, "What happened?"

The man eased his body closer to the bedraggled boy before speaking. "Well, it looks like lightning hit the forge and set it on fire". Spitelout, who was located a short distance away eavesdropping let out a hissed curse. Gobber's head snapped in the direction of sound before returning his gaze to Hiccup, "Well, it seems not all of us believe lightning hit the forge." Gobber continued, "Some think," throwing a quick glance to Spitelout, "that you set it on fire with your work last night".

Hiccup's eyes widened, a frantic look fell across his face. "B... But... I didn't!" Hiccup desperately sputtered out. Tensing and digging his hands into the mud and grass beneath him.

"Everything was put away and the pit fire was out when I went to sleep. I... I swear to the Gods! Please, you have to believe me!" he continued in a panicked voice. His eyes darted between each of the men staring down at him disapprovingly, desperately searching their faces for some kind of affirmation.

Hiccup's pleading face had little effect assuaging his uncle's anger as Spitelout crossed his arms and spat, "Liar!" Turning on his heel the man stormed off, leaving Hiccup breathless on the ground with glassy eyes, his face a mix of worry and desperation. He needed someone to believe him, anyone...

Almost immediately a large hand landed on his shoulder, squeezing comfortingly. Hiccup raised his head toward the blacksmith who was still kneeling beside him, the young boy's green eyes beseeching him.

"I believe ya lad. Don't you worry." The large man spoke in surprisingly soft and kind tones as he looked into the child's petrified face.

"Only the back of the forge burned. If ya had forgotten to put out the fire, the area by the pit would have burned first." Hiccup released a breath he didn't realize he was holding, closed his eyes, and whispered, "Thank you."

"Now, let's see what's broken, burnt, or generally out of whack". Large and gentle hands started roaming over Hiccup's hair, over his face and neck, down his back, and over his chest and arms. Hiccup tensed unconsciously and flinched at Gobber's touch. He wasn't used to being touched - well, unless someone was beating, shoving, biting, or abusing him in some fashion. Pain always followed touching. However, this touch felt foreign, it felt kind, it felt gentle, it felt concerned, it felt like he mattered.

Sensing the boy's apprehension, Gobber soothed, "It's okay lad, just relax," while large hands continued their exploration over his small frame, searching for wounds.

Hiccup winced and whimpered when Gobber's hands finally landed on his forearms and palms. The sleeves of his tunic, burnt and shredded from his savage experience in the forge, concealed raw, red skin underneath that had begun to blister.

"Aye. I know it hurts lad. You're a little cooked, but you'll survive." Suddenly a rough hand ruffled Hiccup's hair. With a wry smile, the blacksmith grabbed his apprentice under the arms and lifted him quickly to his feet. "Now, let's go get you, and your room fixed up". Placing his strong hand firmly on Hiccup's back, he pushed the shivering boy forward toward the door of the forge.

Protectively hugging his scorched and burned arms criss-cross style across his chest, Hiccup entered the forge, closely followed by his smithing mentor. Gobber directed the staggering boy to the fire pit where he gestured for him to sit. Upon reaching the pit, Hiccup collapsed into a nearby chair.

The large man knelt down to match the boy's height, surveying the damage to Hiccup's face. Reaching forward, a rough, calloused hand gently took hold of the young boy's chin, while another lifted and pushed his bangs off his forehead. Cautiously, the man's right hand guided Hiccup's face up and down, left and right, as he examined the burns. Luckily, there were only a few - above the left eye, on the left cheek, and on the right side of his chin - and only one was severe.

"Yeah, the one on your chin might leave a nice scar. Your first, I see!" his voice full of humor as he gave Hiccup a wink. "Good thing burns are my specialty. I have something that will fix you up straight away".

Gobber rose and headed toward a cabinet on the far wall. After several minutes of fumbling through multiple jars containing weird looking liquids, his hand fell upon one that contained a particularly nasty looking thick, brownish paste. Smiling to himself, he grabbed a roll of clean linen and returned to the small Viking. Throwing his medical supplies onto a small nearby table, he took a seat opposite the boy who's eyes were downcast as he sat slumped in the chair, arms in his lap, palms facing upward.

As Gobber carefully extended Hiccup's arms, the boy jerked his head upward, flinched and pulled back in pain, re-clutching his arms to his chest. Gobber breathed slowly, stared into the boy's scared eyes, and tried to soothe the frightened child, "Easy, lad. It's okay. I have to rub this on the burns." Reluctantly, Hiccup allowed his arms to be pulled from his chest, hissing through clenched teeth as they were extend onto the table that held the medical supplies.

As Hiccup's arms laid on the table, Gobber grabbed his sleeves and hesitated before speaking, "Now this is going to hurt a wee bit." Hiccup's eyes widened and before he could speak in protest, his sleeves were ripped up to the elbow, exposing the raw and blistered flesh underneath. Hiccup screamed as the fabric, which had burned onto his skin, was torn away. While Hiccup grimaced and squirmed, adjusting to the pain shooting through his arms, Gobber's lips pulled tight, his eyes narrowing as they befell finger shaped bruises peaking out from the ripped tunic that hung loosely on Hiccup's upper arms.

Waiting for Hiccup to relax and calm, the man's his eyes moved back to the boy's face, a smile crossing his lips, "Ready?"

Without waiting for a reply, the foul smelling contents of the jar were gingerly and softly rubbed onto Hiccup's burns. Every touch caused pain to echo through Hiccup's body eliciting moans. For what seemed like an eternity, Hiccup sat pliant, eyes closed, breathing heavily, trying to ignore the pain which rang through his body as the large man's hands traveled over the damaged areas, continually adjusting the position of his arms to reach all the burns.

The pressure from careful fingers on his body finally disappeared. Hiccup roused to the sound of tearing and the site of various sized strips of linen lying on the table. With surprisingly nimble fingers, Gobber wrapped Hiccup's hands and arms tightly with the clean cloth. Hiccup could feel the pain ebbing away as the ointment worked its magic. A sigh of relief crossed his face as his tensely held shoulders finally relaxed.

"Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" chuckled Gobber, garnering a an incredulous look from Hiccup which clearly conveyed, 'Yeah. Yeah, it was!'

Grateful that his torture session with the sadistic smithy was finally over, Hiccup began to stand. Before he could fully raise to his feet, a strong hand landed on his shoulder, forcing him back into his seat.

Puzzled and surprised, Hiccup rolled his eyes and quipped "What, now?"

"We aren't done yet, my boy. Still got more work to do on ya. Don't want any nasty burns wrecking that pretty face of yours, do ya? The lassies would never forgive me!" Laughing jovially, Gobber dug his fingers into the dark, stinky goo and smeared it over the scrunched up face of his now very embarrassed and insulted patient.

As the unctuous goo was being slathered onto the annoyed teen, Hiccup huffed out a breath, crossed his bandaged arms, pouted and grumbled, "Vikings don't have pretty faces." His young friend's wounded ego only added to the hairy caretaker's amusement.

After Hiccup was thoroughly humiliated, the large Berkian rose from his seat, wiped his greasy hands on his tunic, grabbed a broom, and thrust it into Hiccup's pained hands. "Better get busy cleaning your work room." he said with a tone bordering on a command.

Reluctantly Hiccup took the broom and mumbled sarcastically, "Well, I guess two minutes is sufficient recovery time." Holding the broom warily in mummified hands, the small boy stood and made his way over to the blacked doorway which led into his ramshackled invention room. As the youth began sweeping the rubble and charred debris across the floor, he remarked to himself that the damage didn't appear extensive. "A week tops..." he mumble aloud, working out the repair schedule in his head.

While mindlessly pushing the broom and daydreaming about the improvements he'd make to his new invention room, he suddenly made contact with a fairly large blackened object. Bending down, Hiccup lifted the charred and burnt remains of his notebook. Using his tunic as a cloth, he cleaned off the ash which covered the surface. Hiccup rolled the book over in his hands, surprised that it survived the fire. As he opened the book and flipped through the pages, he noticed that there was only some minor burns on the cover, and only one of the lower corners had damage. 'Kind of like me.' he thought, with a half-smile breaking across his face. He tucked his precious treasure into his tunic and continued cleaning.

As dawn broke, Hiccup realized he had been cleaning for hours. Tired, sore, his hands and arms aching from the exertion, he finally made his way back into the forge where Gobber was silently working, stoking the pit fire he had re-ignited. Collapsing back into his seat by the pit, Hiccup exhaled exhaustively, "All finished".

At the sound of Hiccup's voice, the blacksmith turned and made his way to where the boy was seated. Pulling up a chair, the older male looked pointedly into the boy's eyes and asked, "So, tell me, what were you doing in here so late last night?.

The man's intense stare unnerved Hiccup causing him to fidget in his seat. Dropping his eyes to the floor, the teen moved his bandaged hand to the back of his neck and rubbed absentmindedly. "Well... I was ... trying to clear my mind and come up with an idea for a gift, you know, for the festival." Almost on cue, his mind flashed to his previous vision, and his stomach erupted with an exceptionally large rumble causing Hiccup to look away embarrassed.

Upon hearing the stomach rumble, a stern and accusatory look formed on Gobber's face. "How long this time?". "Only a couple days, I swear," Hiccup responded with a sheepish look on his face.

Gobber slapped his massive mitt over his eyes and ran it down his face, clearly irritated. "And the time before it was only a week. You were practically passing out at the forge every five minutes until you fessed up."

"And don't even get me started about the time before that...!" Gobber scolded, "You were gone for over a month troll hunting. When I finally tracked you down and hauled your scrawny butt back to the village, you were nothin' but skin and bones. Well, more skin and bones than usual... and that's sayin' something! You looked like a toothpick with hair and eyes! You couldn't even stand up without passing out. Thor knows how long you were without food then!" The large man's arms flew up over his head in exasperation.

Hiccup crossed his arms across his chest and furrowed his brow, hurriedly defending his honor, "Well... real Vikings don't need to eat, they just need to conquer, kill and destroy. Besides, I was only a dumb young kid when I went on my quest for trolls, so I think you're exaggerating a bit here." correcting his mentor curtly. His voice dripping with righteous indignation, displaying obvious annoyance with the smithy's clear, and unflattering, recollection of the events.

Gobber huffed out a laugh, "Dumb, I'll give ya. But a young kid? Lad, that happened only this past spring which was just six months ago!"

The old smithy's eyes flew open in disbelief at the absurdity of the young man's claims, "Exaggerating, am I? Ugh! You didn't see yourself. You were laid up in a bed for a two weeks tryin' to get your strength back. You were knocking on death's door."

"Aye... Sometimes I just don't know what I'm going to do with ya..." his voice trailing off as he shook his head side-to-side in frustration.

"You're good at destruction, I'll give ya that. Unfortunately, its always focused on the village or yourself."

Furrowing his brow, he spoke with great sympathy in his voice, "As for killin', lad... Well, you've never killed anything in your wee life. I just don't think ya have that in ya. Not even if it meant savin' your own skin."

With an sympathetic sigh, Gobber pulled the chair containing Hiccup over to the table, and pointed directly at Hiccup's face with his index finger. "Stay. Put. There. You know what I mean." And with those orders the blacksmith disappeared out the forge door only to return a few minutes later with a half loaf of bread and some cheese in his hands. He set the meal in front of Hiccup and barked, "Eat. You're only skin and bones. If you want to grow into a proper Viking you have to bulk up."

Looking down at the feast in front of him, Hiccup felt a pang of guilt. He really wasn't honest with Gobber as to why it had been days since he'd eaten. He kept that shameful part to himself; the part about avoiding, yes, basically hiding from a gang of blood thirsty teens to avoid a thorough thrashing. As the shame and guilt flooded over him he thought, 'I'll never be a proper Viking. Vikings aren't afraid. They aren't cowards. They aren't weak. ' Hiccup sat motionless, just looking at the food, too ashamed to eat.

After a few minutes under Gobber's watchful gaze, the man spoke again, obvious annoyance in his voice mixed with an undertone of amusement, "Well, what are you waiting for? You gonna eat it, or just... stare... at it?" Hiccup looked up through his bangs and into Gobber's face, trying to shake his feelings, wondering if the man knew he was hiding a secret. With hunger in his eyes, the frail boy reached out a shaking hand and ripped a small piece of bread from the loaf, slowly putting into his mouth, the guilt in his heart robbing all taste from his meal.

As Hiccup sat quietly eating, he couldn't help wonder why the lightning strike hadn't woken him. "Gobber? Did you see the lightning hit, is that how you knew about the fire?" Gobber looked at the lad confused, "No lad. I was already up. We were at the Great Hall, doing a little pre-festival celebration, if you know what I mean..," giving Hiccup a little elbow nudge and wink, "... when we saw the blaze."

"So, nobody heard a thunder clap, or saw the strike..." Hiccup mumbled the statement more to himself than anyone, as his mind tried to logically formulate the implications, his fingers mindlessly fiddling with his food. "Like last time..." he finished quietly after a pause.

Gobber shrugged, "Nope. The thunder and rain stopped a couple hours before." With a comforting look on his face he leaned toward Hiccup and lifted the boy's chin with his hand, making eye contact. "Now, there ya go. Thinkin' too much again. Listen, you're a good lad. Don't let what Spitelout said get to ya. It was a freak of nature. Nothing more. Let it go, boy."

Gobber scooted his chair closer to the table, leaned on one elbow, and looked conspiratorially into the young boy's eyes. With a voice full of mischief he spoke, "Now, let's talk about that gift of yours..."


	4. Chapter 3

**Welcome back folks, and Happy New Year!**

**I'm glad to say that from the reviews it seems I managed to pull off generating anger (yeah, hit the nail on the head for that one!), suspense, angst, and maybe humor or camaraderie in the last chapter. Sweet!**

**I'm not really happy with this chapter, but I've gone over it many times and it doesn't get better. It's choppy, and the sentence structure doesn't flow well. Also, the wording seems simplistic. Ah well, gotta have a clunker every now-and-again. **

**This chapter again focuses on character interaction and background development. I need to define, and develop certain relationships between the various characters since their roles will become important later on. It's not a very exciting chapter, but it does introduce some information that I need for the overall story arc. Sorry for the dullness, but I have to get the ground work laid out before we can get into the meat of the story. Things will start moving a bit faster after the next couple chapters since I'll be able to move forward with ****the main plot.**

**I gotta admit, my old English prof would probably be rolling over in her grave - well, if she were dead - to see that I actually have positive reviews! Score one for almost-English-speaking sea sponge! Hoorah!**

**For what it's worth, hats off to all of you who write stories. This is harder than any physics or calculus I've ever taken. Numbers and equations are easy, staring at a blank page desperately trying to write an interesting paragraph is bloody hard. Hell, a lot harder than I ever thought, so I'm grateful that y'all are hanging in there with me while I cut my teeth on this fanfiction.**

**BTW, the HTTYD2 trailer was awesome. Although I'm kind of bugged that they made Hiccup's mom a dragon trainer. I think it detracts from his "specialness" in the tribe. My two cents for what it's worth.**

**OK, enough of that... back to the story...**

**Final Warning: Buckle up Buttercup... Nobody ever called 911 after doing something smart, and this story is probably the dumbest damn thing I've ever done in my life! Alonzi!**

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Chapter 3  
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Hiccup seemed to shrink visibly under Gobber's intense, quizzical gaze. Head bent downward, he intently examined the food he twiddled idly between nervous fingers, deliberately avoiding his mentor's watchful eyes. Feeling the heat of embarrassment creep slowly up his back, an unwanted blush appeared on his cheeks as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

The full weight of the large man's glare pressed down on the small boy, piercing his body and sending nervous energy snaking through his veins like a fire. After what seemed like an eternity, Hiccup peeked upward through shaggy bangs, which fell softly across his forehead, and finally stuttered, "I... I don't seem to have any idea what to bring. I don't know anything about my Mum. M-My Dad never talks about her."

After his admitted failure at obtaining a celebratory gift, Hiccup's voice dropped in volume as he continued in a melancholy tone, "... When I ask him about my Mum, he just gets angry. He doesn't really look at me, or speak to me anymore. Well, except to tell me how I've screwed up, or how I'm not listening, or not as good a Viking as Snotlout, or ..." Hiccup's voice trailed off. His body seemed to collapse in on itself with the final admission of his abysmal relationship with his father.

The blacksmith studied the young man's genial face. The pain of his words leaked into his youthful expression, the bright green and innocent eyes now clouded with a forlorn look of someone far older than his tender an exhale of courage, the small boy stiffened, raised his head and stared directly in the eyes of his mentor, the light and excitement in his eyes renewed, "Can you tell me about my Mum?" His soft voice pierced through the air with pleading urgency.

"Lad, I'm not sure I'm the best one to be tellin' ya about your Mum."

"But there's no one else!" Hiccup blurted out in protest.

"I suppose there's not," the large man said sympathetically.

With a sigh, Gobber scooted his chair closer, with one hand on his hip and the other rubbing his chin. He looked skyward and searched his memories. Seeming to retrieve some long forgotten event, he removed his hand from his chin, snapped his fingers with a smile, and adjusted himself in his seat.

Hiccup's eyes widened and fixated on his companion as the man sedately described a beautiful chestnut-haired maiden with brilliant hazel eyes. A woman with the fighting spirit of a Valkyrie, the battle skills of a Berserker, and the kindness and compassion of the goddess Freya.

"Thor almighty, Val was one Hel of a woman, and very easy on the eyes. I suppose we were all in love with her to some degree." Upon completing his glowing description of Hiccup's mother, Gobber gave a wolf-whistle while making an hour glass shape with his hands. "Know what I mean?" a wink and an elbow nudge to Hiccup's ribs followed. The gesture of obvious attraction to his mother caused an uncomfortable feeling in the little Viking's stomach.

Taking a few moments to remove the lecherous smile that broke across his face, the older man licked his lips and refocused his attention on the small, obviously creeped-out boy in front of him, whose eyebrow was raised, and face was aghast with horror at the sexual innuendo.

With hand on knee, wagging a large finger at Hiccup, the hairy blacksmith continued the story. "Now where was I? Oh, yeah.." Clearing his throat to break the uncomfortable tension that was like electricity in the air, he hummed. "It's not like your Dad didn't have plenty of women chasing after him, but the moment he saw Val, well... he lost interest in the rest."

"Now, Stoick being smitten with Val caused great problems for your grandpa. You see, Gunnar the Great had already agreed to an intertribal marriage contract for your Dad. While his intended wasn't much to look at, she did bring the village some of the best mead I've ever tasted..." Gobber licked his lips longingly at the thought, his eyes glazed over slightly and he half-grinned recalling the fond memory.

Clearing his throat, and shaking his head to pull him out of his reverie, the blacksmith continued, "Ah, those were the days... Your Dad and I were soused for a good month straight," he lightly chuckled, a mischievous look dancing in his eyes.

"Didn't seem to matter to your Dad that he threw one Hel of a thunderbolt into Gunnar's plans. But that was when Stoick was young, lighthearted and carefree. Love will do that, lad. It makes ya all stupid and silly." Gobber winked devilishly at Hiccup, laughing boisterously.

A blank expression materialized on Hiccup's face as he tried to picture his Dad as anything other than old, serious, and stern. His mental gymnastics failing miserably. He always pictured his Dad as being born angry, a scowl plastered on his face even as an infant.

Gobber paused and sat back in his seat, a devious look in his eyes as he surveyed the bewildered look on the boy's face, "... but that's a story for another time. And is it a doozy! Best cat fight I've ever seen!" Gobber threw up his arms wildly mimicking an explosion, laughing raucously.

Wiping the mirthful tears from his eyes and calming himself after his outburst of hilarity, Gobber continued telling Hiccup how his father fell in love with the chestnut-haired beauty, but she didn't return his affections. He told a tale about how Valhallarama saw herself as a shield-maiden, determined to stay chaste and remain a protector of the village. Most importantly, Hiccup was told about Stoick's determination to win the heart of the woman he loved. To prove his love, he underwent the dangerous journey to Skarstind Mountain to bring back the rare dragon-shaped Meadowrue flower; Val's favorite flower.

Hiccup found himself unconsciously smiling at his friend's retelling of his parent's courtship, finding himself eager to hear more. With encouraging eyes, Hiccup scooted forward in his seat, face ablaze with excitement, listening intently.

The blacksmith momentarily stopped speaking. A sincere smile slowly broke across his face, punctuating his next sentence for effect, "Needless to say, Stoick's heroics and passion won her hand, and she agreed to marry him at the next harvest."

Gobber leaned toward the boy as he met his eyes, choosing his next words carefully he spoke in a very calculated manner, "It was about half a year later when your Mum found out she was with child. I've never seen a man who wanted to be a father more than your Dad." Gobber focused on the small form sitting mesmerized before him, taking great pleasure at the surprised look that slowly crept across his face as the meaning of the words dissolved into his befuddled brain.

Hiccup lowered his head and whispered, "I was wanted? I was wanted..." his face a mix of shock and disbelief. When Hiccup raised his head, he initially stared blankly at the blacksmith. His body then tensed and a volley of mixed emotions played across his face in succession, still unable to believe what he was told.

As if an intelligent darkness had been listening, an oppressive and stifling presence seemed to descend upon the room, encircling the two seated occupants, dimming the firelight and casting ominous shadows on the surrounding walls. A disconcerting quietness seemed to creep into the air as the expression on the storyteller's face became solemn.

The smithy lowered his eyes from the boy's face, obviously in pain, as the fairytale he told took a dark and unexpected turn. Hiccup's heart broke as he sat frozen, unable to speak, as he learned how after a few months his mother started to become ill. He was told that the best healers couldn't determine the cause of her illness, nor a cure, but felt her illness was due to her pregnancy, and that she'd recover once she lost the child.

"I was with your Dad most of the days he sat with your Mum. It never quite sunk into his head that he could lose you..." Gobber's voice solemn as he spoke.

Hiccup looked up at his friend with searching eyes. He never knew this about his parents; certainly not about his Dad. He never got the feeling that he was ever wanted.

How could this be? How could the man who constantly criticized him; who looked upon him with austere expressions; who mostly ignored him; who viewed him, and everything he did, reprovingly; have ever wanted him. Hiccup's mind swam with all these thoughts trying to reason through the paradoxical information.

Gobber laid his hand on the small boy's shoulder, looked into the young man's face and spoke, "I guess your Mum was just about six months along when you came. You were so small and sickly that your Dad was sure you wouldn't make it through the night. When you did, your Dad thought you and your Mum would both be fine."

"She passed the very next day... In the end, I think that's what broke him. He was never quite the same after that." Gobber whispered in a tone that was almost sepulchral.

With a trembling and terrified voice, Hiccup squeaked, "Is that why my Dad hates me now? Because I was born weak...and... and my Mum died?". Hiccup struggled to get this question out, fighting the more insidious thought that flashed and burned hot in his mind, but remained unspoken.

Gobber jolted back, surprise flashing across his face at the significance of the question. "No, lad. Whatever gave you that crazy idea? Your Dad doesn't hate you. It's just difficult for him being a Viking Chief, and you, well, don't really fit the mould of a chief's son; all brainy-like and no brawn." Waving his hands, gesturing to all of Hiccup.

Hoping his words soothed the distraught youth, Gobber waited patiently for Hiccup to speak again, trying to decipher the sullen boy's thoughts by his body language and facial expression. With a roll of his eyes, Hiccup shot back, "Thank you, for summing that up." before falling silent again.

After continuing to mull over Gobber's words, Hiccup finally stuttered diffidently, "I... I think you're wrong." His voice quivered as he continued, "When Dad's around me, he's always so angry. He won't look at me and barely speaks to me anymore. He doesn't check on me when I'm sick, or care if I've eaten. He doesn't even notice if I haven't been home for days. It's like I'm invisible, and he wishes I hadn't been born. H-He thinks I'm worthless as a Viking..." the boy paused and dropped his head in shame, his voice becoming a whisper, "... and a son." The honest admission of the terrible truth he'd been harboring in the dark recesses of his mind deflated his small body, causing his shoulders to slump in defeat.

Without raising his head, Hiccup huffed out a breath, "He may have wanted a son, but not the one he got..." his voice quiet and toneless.

Gobber noted how small and frail his young friend looked, seeing the gentle and kind nature of Val amplified in the small figure who sat lonely and lost in front of him, craving acceptance and needing attention. Hiccup was a smart, gentle, and honest kid whose soul never grew out of the innocence of childhood as he aged; Gobber doubted it ever would. He was truly different, and for the first time, the large and fierce Viking was privy to just how broken the Chief's relationship was with his son.

The large man slowly reached out and took Hiccup's chin into his hand, gently raising the boy's head. Extreme pity filled the heart of the smithy as he looked into the pained eyes of the young non-Viking. It was like watching the life drain out of the child right before his eyes. For the first time in his life, Gobber was at a loss for words.

"Go home, lad." he said in a gentle, encouraging voice. "Spend some time with your Dad. You'll come to see what I've always known." Standing, the large man gently pulled his young friend from the chair and scooted him toward the door. With a furtive look over his shoulder toward the man standing in front of the warm and comforting fire, Hiccup grabbed the door handle and pulled, his heart longing to stay in the only real place he ever called home.

As the boy stepped out of the forge, his eyes were greeted by the dawn breaking in the east; the birth of a new day. With a pained look crossing his face, the boy secretly hoped the new day would be better than the last.


	5. Chapter 4

**Sorry about the sad tone of the last chapter.**

**This chapter is a little lighter, but short, sorry. The next one is ****really long, but this was the best place to break the scene.**

**Since I'm practicing writing a novel length story (I'm thinking 100K+ ****words - around 30 chapters, 2-5K words per chapter) I have to introduce ****people and relationships as if we're seeing them for the first time. ****There isn't a lot of action in this chapter, but I need to create an ****emotional dynamic between two of the characters.**

**I know things feel like they are moving slow, I can feel it too. Please ****be patient with me while I go through the newbie death-throws of learning ****how to set a proper plot pace. (hints on how to do this are welcomed)**

**This chapter should have some humor and some teenaged angst, but ****otherwise it should be a pretty light read.**

**Last Warning: Buckle up, Buttercup. We've got the throttle opened wide, ****and a straight road ahead.**

* * *

Chapter 4  
=========

Dispirited by the events of the previous night, Hiccup walked slowly home, shoulders slumped, his mind consumed with a foreboding triggered by his conversation with the smithy. The same cruel thought that haunted his mind earlier re-emerged, burning anew in his tired mind.

"No," he mumbled, feebly shaking his head in an attempt to dislodge the tormenting thought, only to have it return with an even greater vigor. "I couldn't have been the cause..." His brow furrowed as he desperately tried to convince himself it was true, suspecting in his heart it wasn't.

Hiccup's feet felt leaden as he trudged along, his burned and bruised body competing with his extreme exhaustion, each vying for body dominance to force him to collapse. By pure strength of will, he kept moving forward through the town square unnoticed by the mass of people who busily rushed by, hurriedly cleaning the damaged decorations ruined by the previous night's downpour, intent on keeping to the tight preparation schedule for Winterfyllith.

Shuffling mechanically, eyes half-lidded from fatigue, the small boy glanced wearily at the celebratory items that had been strewn around the structures, his mind replaying the romantic story he'd been told the previous night. While it was exciting, and filled with many unexpected and confusing details, it didn't exactly help him determine a proper gift to present. On the contrary, he felt considerably more confused having to process all the new information which swirled in his foggy mind like a building storm.

Only vaguely aware of where his feet led him, Hiccup wandered through the random cluster of people who busily scurried across his path. As if by some cruel, ill-fated joke by Loki, the crowd suddenly parted, and the dirty and disheveled teen found himself walking directly toward Astrid Hofferson who had just emerged from a nearby building carrying an assorted bundle of items in her arms.

Hiccup's forward motion almost stopped as he became entranced by the visage. A lopsided grin broke unconsciously across his face, eyes staring dreamily at the blonde who stared forward impassively as she approached. Focused solely on the young female, he lost all motor control and tripped over a nonexistent pebble. Awkwardly lurching forward, he fell and landed roughly on his hands and knees, emitting an "oof" as he hit the ground. Hoping beyond hope that the object of his desire hadn't seen this horrendous display of monumental clumsiness, Hiccup froze on the ground, eyes closed, wishing desperately that the Gods would just open the earth beneath him and swallow him up so he could just die now.

Offering a quick random prayer to any listening deities, Hiccup whispered, "Please... oh Gods, please...no, no, no, no..." his heart thundering against his rib cage. The cowering teen took a moment to regain his composure before squinting open one eye with trepidation. Immediately, he froze, eyes widening at the site of two small, well-worn fur boots only a short distance away. With an audible gulp, he recognized the boots and cringed.

Fueled by an intense embarrassment that seemed to burn like fire, a flow of brilliant red suffused Hiccup's face from hairline to collarbone. Slowly he raised his head, mouth agape, as his widened eyes slowly crept up the female's body, drinking in every minuscule detail. Framed by the light of the rising sun, streams of sunlight fell on, and through her flaxen hair, making Astrid look like a Valkyrie sent straight from Valhalla by Odin himself. In spite of himself, Hiccup exhaled and grinned.

When emerald-green met crystal-blue, the young male gulped, terror ripping through his body as his mouth started moving automatically, his head shaking back and forth as he tried to say something... anything. Finding himself suddenly struck mute from the teen beauty's stony look, the boy-genius panicked and awkwardly stuttered, "H-hi, ah, I-I'm really sorry. I'm so sorry. Sorry. Y-yeah, really sorry. I-I, ah, hope I'm not in your way or anything." Before going silent, his face turned an even darker shade of red. 'Well, so much for being the smooth and cool uber-Viking,' Hiccup thought, his eyes still focused on hers.

Shifting the items in her arms, Astrid reached down her newly-freed hand and grabbed Hiccup under the arm, roughly hauling him to his feet. Taking a visual inventory of the terrified teen, she mentally noted his bandaged arms, and if possible, his even thinner build from only the previous week. She exhaled sharply wondering if his father ever bothered to feed him, or even notice enough to be concerned by the obvious burns and bruises; something she'd seen far too often over the years for her liking.

With a voice teetering on annoyance, she commanded, "Be more careful..." After a few moments of silence, the beautiful Viking maiden continued in a voice significantly softened, filled more with concerned than annoyance, "and... and eat more."

Having a quasi-conversation with the girl of his dreams both unnerved and thrilled Hiccup. He stared at her face with a nonplussed expression before a nervous hand shot up and wrapped around the back of his neck, rubbing nervously as he spoke, "Yeah, right. Yeah, thanks. I, ah, I will. I'll do, um, just that. I mean, I'll try to do both those things. Thanks." He smiled genuinely before casting his eyes downward anxiously to stare at his feet.

After a few seconds of awkward silence, the timid teen looked up and blurted out, "Nice weather we're having". The obvious absurdity of the forced statement garnered a cross look from the blonde warrior who kept her eyes fixed on the fidgeting, auburn-haired boy. Hiccup realized his monstrous blunder and tried to salvage the situation by babbling out, "... well... I mean except for the thunderstorm last night which wrecked everything". Exhaling in defeat, he dropped his head, staring once again at his feet.

Astrid glared at the bony boy in front of her with quizzical eyes. Raising an eyebrow, she glanced down and wondered what possibly could be so fascinating about his feet that they warranted such focus and attention. The young male shifted from foot to foot as he felt the rise of goosebumps prickle his flesh from her heated gaze. 'Say something clever before she leaves. Say something that will make her remember you... Just don't stand here like an idiot...'

With his mind racing like a hunted animal, speeding from thought to thought, each lamer than the previous, the skinny teen finally muttered, "Um, well, I guess I should be letting you get back to, um, you know, your stuff." Praying his words didn't come across as pathetic as it sounded in his head, Hiccup grinned sheepishly, feeling extreme embarrassment grip his body for about the hundredth time in the last five minutes.

The obviously awkward and unpolished comment garnered a curt, stolid reply from the young female Viking, who found herself smiling inwardly at the sweet, blushing boy before her. "Yes, I should. Now if you'd excuse me."

As Hiccup stood face-to-face with the girl he'd loved since he was five, he tried to side-step her, but she moved into his way. Immediately, the small boy found himself again staring straight into the eyes of the flaxen-haired beauty. Without thinking, both teens tried to side-step each other again, only to find themselves repeating the awkward walking dance.

Flushing a brilliant red for the umpteenth time, Hiccup sputtered, "Oops! I'm so sorry. I'll get out of your way now." While attempting to let Astrid pass, they repeated three more rounds of the awkward dance before the red-faced boy gulped audibly, and relented. To his utter horror, Astrid had also stopped the dance and remained only a scant distance from his face. Hiccup stood frozen, his eyes locked onto hers, so close to her body that he could feel her breath on his face, smell the perfume of her hair, see the flecks of gold in her otherwise crystal blue eyes. He was utterly intoxicated being so close to the object of his affection, unable to stop the goofy grin that slowly etched its way across his lips, his eyes fell into a dreamy stare.

Lost in his enchantment, Hiccup mustered all his courage, and opened his mouth to speak when his sentence was interrupted by a shout from behind.

"There you are!" The familiar voice made Hiccup spin on his heal. Dread flooded his body when he saw Snotlout and his retinue approach. Turning quickly to face Astrid, he sputtered, "Well, it's been nice, ah, but I gotta run... literally."

Quickly he pushed passed the young girl and ran toward the nearest alley desperate to lose the bullies hot on his heels, one thought  
pounding in his head, 'I'm so dead!'.


End file.
